


Amorous Passion

by Phinmeister



Category: h3h3productions
Genre: Beauty - Freeform, Fame, Finga Licking, M/M, Romance, Success, True Love, jet skis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phinmeister/pseuds/Phinmeister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people couldn't handle fame and success. He could. But there was one obstacle he couldn't handle - the greatest and most passionate love affair of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Khaled

“And that’s a wrap on episode number one of Jeff Dunham’s new hit comedy series!”

Wiping sweat from his brow and beaming at the crowd of cheering fans, Jeffrey “Jeff” Dunham strode off the stage where the first episode of his brand new comedy series had just been filmed. The show was sure to be a hit; after all, every show that he had appeared on and every sketch that he had performed in were immensely successful, leading him to fame and fortune from the get go. He hadn’t been born into a privileged life, though. He came from the mud. He’d started from the bottom, and now he was here. His name in lights, girls screaming his name, his own brand of lubricant – who could live such a life? Certainly only one who had truly made it and played the fame game correctly.

He shut the door to the stage behind him and made his way into the hallway. It was long, with doors leading to various rooms, and quite dreary in appearance. There was dust collected in the corners, and the walls had clearly not been painted in some years. It didn’t matter, though; no one came here to gaze at the immaculacy and luster of the hallway. They came here to either go on the stage or get ready to go on the stage.

Jeff was pursuing the third unnamed option: getting ready to leave. He had worked up a sweat from making so many great jokes, so it would probably be a good idea to change his shirt. In any case, he needed time to collect himself. Breathe a little. His job was hard, no matter how much wealth and fame it gave him.

He reached out to grasp the door handle and pulled the door open. Pausing to yawn, he wandered in through the doorway, and at once had to stop in his tracks, because there was someone else sitting in his rightful chair. This someone was a rather large man dressed in remarkable attire – from his red and black sports jacket to his socks and sandals (the words “ANOTHER” and “ONE” branded on each respective sandal), he looked as if he knew he were playing the game and dressed up for the occasion. His body type was far from slim, possibly from eating too many egg whites, and his hair was neatly shaved. He glanced up from his iPhone as Jeff entered the room; on the screen was the all too recognizable Snapchat app.

Jeff was stricken, and the only thing that he could utter was, “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

“Don’ matter,” said the man, sounding as if all he wanted to do was get on good terms with Jeff. Jeff, however, wanted the opposite.

“Yeah it does matter, this is my dressing room! As far as _I_ can tell, you’re not Jeff Dunham!” He indicated the sign on the still-ajar door, which boldly stated, ‘JEFF DUNHAM / COMEDIAN.”

“I am a VIP,” though, the strange man continued. He stood up and locked his phone with his thumb, pocketing it. “You might’ve heard of me. DJ Khaled.” The air with which he voiced his name was one of confidence, as if he positively loved to say his name, and loved to hear others say it as well.

“I’ve never heard of you in my life. What, do you think you’re some sort of superstar? Well, you’ve got the wrong place, buddy. Now get out of my room.” He stepped forward to brashly usher the man, DJ Khaled, out of his room, but he held up his hands.

“Wait. I just wanted to say something.”

Jeff sighed. “What?”

“I just wanted to say… I’m a big fan, Jeff. A real big fan. I’ve watched all your shows. You’re great, man. Just great.”

“Thanks.” Jeff didn’t feel too thankful.

“Never stop followin’ your dreams, man.” He took his phone out of his pocket again and stepped forward so that he and Jeff were side by side. He held the phone in front of the both of them; Snapchat was once again on the screen.

DJ Khaled pressed a circular button on the screen. “Jeff Dunham’s here, Jeff Dunham. Say hi, Jeff.”

“Uh, hi,” said Jeff.

“That’s right. Big fan of his work. Major key. Good stuff.” He took his phone off the screen and pressed a few more buttons before putting the phone back in his pocket. “Just wanted to say thanks, Mr. Dunham.”

“Yes, you’re welcome,” said Jeff. “Now will you please –”

“I came all the way from Miami to see ya, ya know. Couldn’t miss out on Jeff Dunham’s new hit comedy series.”

This above all else was what changed the atmosphere of the situation for Jeff. Suddenly, Mr. Khaled seemed welcoming and friendly. “You think it’ll be a hit?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure thing. Jeff Dunham’s new hit. Everyone’ll be watching it, I tell ya. I’ll watch every episode, for sure.”

“And you think – you think the ratings will be good, huh?”

“Ten out of ten, baby.”

“Well…” He could hardly imagine it, although it was so close he could just reach out and grab it. A hit. Number one comedy series on television. Fame, fame, and more fame, until he was sick of being instantly recognized for being an all-star comedian. He would never have to beg for work again – it would be handed to him on a silver platter.

“Sounds just excellent.”

“I know, man. When I was starting out, I couldn’t ever believe I’d have the number one indie record in the country. Then it happened. Boom! Now everyone knows my name. Not many people can handle fame, you know. I can. Not many people can handle getting interviews, commercials, music videos, all that. I can. And you can too, Jeff.”

“I’m sure I won’t be in any music videos.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll have everything else. For sure. You wanna talk about it over dinner? I can get you set up.”

“Dinner?” He hadn’t realized until now that he was famished. Being a comedian sure took the stamina out of you.


	2. Finga Licking

Jeff hadn’t expected much out of Finga Licking, but he certainly hadn’t counted on the restaurant being actually owned by his dining companion. DJ Khaled had agreed to meet him outside the front entrance, and he was surrounded by fans, mostly overzealous teenagers and young adults. He stood in the middle of the swarm of bodies like a piece of bread around a gathering of starving pigeons, holding out his phone as he had done back in the dressing room and talking loudly over them.

“Y’all got to go to school and get good grades!” he yelled. “They don’t want us to have good grades! So what are we gonna do?”

“Get good grades!” the crowd cheered in unison. There was an abundance of laughter and excited chattering as the fans gazed up at their idol, big in both stature and in size.  

“That’s right!” Laughter and enjoyment was evident in his tone of voice; clearly, he was accustomed to being surrounded, and he was dedicated to making it worthwhile.

DJ Khaled stood there for a few minutes, mostly taking selfies with fans, until he gazed out beyond the crowd and spotted Jeff. His eyes lit up with recognition and his face broke out into an even bigger smile. Jeff was oddly reminded of Patrice Wilson as DJ Khaled grinned at him.

“Mr. Dunham!” he exclaimed. The fans frowned in confusion before they followed his gaze.

“Hey, it’s Jeff Dunham!” one fan yelled. A cacophony of screaming followed, with several fans rushing towards him.

“Mr. Dunham, can I have your autograph?” “Hey, dude, I love your show!” “Jeff, I mean, Mr. Dunham, hey, bud –”

It went on and on. Both Jeff and DJ Khaled received their respective fan love (or, as DJ Khaled liked to call it, “fan luv,”) until the majority of them had wandered off to complete whatever tasks needed to be done.

“Hey, Mr. Dunham, I knew you’d turn up,” said DJ Khaled to the now emotionally exhausted Jeff. “You wanna have dinner? I can get us in real fast.”

-

DJ Khaled did indeed get the both of them a table within a rather minute amount of time, and soon enough they were sipping at their complimentary glasses of water and perusing through the menu, although Jeff suspected that DJ Khaled didn’t need to be reminded of what was being served.

“What ya gonna get?” DJ Khaled asked. “We got all sorts of good food here. Chicken, fish, I can even ask them to cook up some egg whites –”

“The chicken quesadilla sounds delicious.”

“One of my favorites. How about we both get it?”

“Sure.” He really didn’t care what DJ Khaled ordered, but he supposed he was trying to get on his good side, so he accepted the offer without complaint.

The restaurant had a sunny, friendly atmosphere. It certainly looked fancy and expensive, though; Jeff was glad he got paid a lot to tell hilarious jokes. Surely the majority of citizens of Miami couldn’t afford to go here all the time. He voiced these thoughts aloud to DJ Khaled, who gave him a look of astonishment.

“Aw, no, man, I want all my fans to come here. Nah, this is your regular ole restaurant.”

“Really? The quality is above that of what I’d consider a regular restaurant.”

DJ Khaled beamed at him. “Ah, well, thank ya, Jeff. You’re a great guy, you know.”

“I know.”

Did he know? Well, yes, he did. He was Jeff Dunham, the one and only, the comedian who had taken the world of both the Internet and reality by storm. He was great, that was certain. But the question was, was he _great?_ Decent? A good guy, friends to many? He hoped he was; after all, no sane person wouldn’t want to be loved and respected by others. No, he loved everyone, from black guys in the hood to beautiful women from Israel, and everyone in between, even those about whom he made racist or sexist jokes.

But enough of that. Dinner… was served.

-

“Mm, this quesadilla’s the best,” said DJ Khaled, shoving another mouthful of the dish in between his lips. “Mmfm. I gotta remember to promote that on my Snapchat.”

Jeff was also finding his chicken quesadilla to be absolutely scrumptious, although he was attempting to eat each bite with the manners his mother had taught to him. Out of the corner of his eye about five minutes previously, he had spotted what appeared to be a member of the paparazzi in incognito. He wouldn’t have spotted her had she not quickly put away her iPhone – almost too quickly. The way she had then deliberately avoided making eye contact with him after that was even further proof.

He didn’t necessarily mind if the occasional picture were taken of him, even if it were in a place that would catch him making several unflattering expressions a minute as he ate. It was his very close proximity to DJ Khaled that raised the quietest alarms in his mind. Would that person with the phone fabricate some baffling story centering the both of them, leading him to waste his time denying the idea that they were collaborating, for instance? All this was was a lunch date, and nothing more. Now was the time for him to desperately and earnestly promote his new comedy series and turn it into a hit, and he couldn’t let that fall to the wayside. Perhaps he should just cut this short.

“Um, Mr. Khaled,” he said, and he cleared his throat. “I think I’ll be finishing up, yeah?”

DJ Khaled looked up at him. “You leaving so soon?”

“I’m afraid I have to. Got a meeting with my publisher.”

All this did was light up DJ Khaled’s eyes. “Oh, yeah, your new series! It’s gonna be a hit, man, it really is.”

“Yes, thank you, you’ve said.”

“And I’m gonna promote it, you bet.”

“Thank you.” Did the man know how to shut up?

“Hey, why don’t I getcha number?” This was spoken in a quieter tone, probably to ward off anyone who might be eavesdropping. “We can chat. I’ve got big plans, you know, I’m always up to something.”

“Oh, sure.” He had no idea what DJ Khaled could possibly due to make their careers intertwine, but he supposed one phone number was the same as any other: avoided until needed. In this case, it probably would be more of the former than the latter.

So, a day’s end. Jeff ended up with DJ Khaled’s number in his phone, along with a promise to “Snap him, alright?” Jeff hadn’t known how to tell him he didn’t have a Snapchat account. Perhaps he should make one.

Maybe he would. Even though he had been a tad bit annoying, and quite loud and extroverted, DJ Khaled seemed like a very nice man. Humble, amenable, friendly, all sorts of positive adjectives could be applied to him.

In fact, the more he thought about him, the more Jeff realized that it wouldn’t be terribly bad to meet up with him again. They had had a nice meal, hadn’t they? And even though at times he had been lost for words around him more than once, he wasn’t boring to be around.

Well, he hadn’t been around him that long. Who knows what his personality was really like. All Jeff knew was his own: that of a comedic genius. Oh, yes. It was time to really reward himself for his new soon-to-be hit comedy series. Champagne and a Jacuzzi, maybe, and a night with the one and only Audrey Murdick. Nice.


End file.
